


Afterlife

by vivamusmoriendumest



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Manipulation, Suicide, lying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:08:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28308027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivamusmoriendumest/pseuds/vivamusmoriendumest
Summary: It’s been a while since the reader has seen Tate, they talk and things turn a bit sour.
Relationships: Tate Langdon/Reader, Tate Langdon/You, Violet Harmon & Tate Langdon, Violet Harmon/Reader, Violet Harmon/Tate Langdon, Violet Harmon/You
Kudos: 17





	Afterlife

**Author's Note:**

> im gonna b real honest, i dont know whats going on. everytime i write out a monologue its in the voice of Hannibal lecter or joe goldberg there's never an in between, so i am so sorry for this being in my lecter mindset (minus the eating people). ALSO HAPPY HOLIDAYS >:)))))

You walked into the house, admiring your surroundings. You bathed in its beauty and basked in the warm light coming from the window.

You walked up the staircase, sliding your hand along the deep brown banister. The wood was carved in such detail along the wall and the dark furniture tones somewhat complimented the rooms.

You stopped and looked at an old mirror. The edges were beautiful, a gold colour, that spiralled in different directions. You took your hand and wiped through the dust on the reflective surface.  
Your reflection looked the same as it always did, one of your normal school outfits on as if you just returned home. Your hair parted in the middle sorted to stay out of your face. 

You smiled at the person in the mirror. They seemed uneasy at first. And they smiled back. Kindness was always rewarded with kindness, you used to believe.

You heard a loud sound from the other room. You stopped in your tracks. From somewhere inside you, you felt the pitter-pattering of your heartbeat. It told you to investigate. Shaking, you grabbed a letter opener from a table and advanced towards the sound. There was something in the back of your mind, that knew to keep pushing you to the room. There was something there. You approached, ignoring all fear and anxiety and pushed open the dark wood door. You exhaled.

A girl. Kissing some guy on her bed. The girl moaned into the kiss. So that was the commotion. You were about to leave, not wanting to interrupt and intervene until the kid’s head turned and caught your gaze. Those dark eyes. You knew those dark brown eyes. 

“Tate?” You breathed out, shaking a bit. The girl turned around, Tate leaving one of his hands on her hip.

“Who the hell are you? Why are you in my house?” she aggressively questioned. Tate ignored her and rested his hands on his knees. He looked up at you, a look of confusion written on his face. But not pure confusion—like a look that says “I know who you are but why are you here?”. 

“I’m sorry. Who are you?” he asked, looking shaken up a bit at the fact that there was an intruder in the house. Faker. But no, play his game. Let him believe you don’t know. 

“Yeah, and why the fuck are you in my house.” The blonde girl again spat out. 

“It’s funny how you don’t seem to remember me, Tate.” You said, crossing your arms nervously. You knew his game, his act—but you still hadn’t seen him in so long. And you had to look the part for a little while longer.

He looked expectantly at you, waiting for a response. “See, Tate, I’m also confused.”

Violet was pissed at this revelation. A stranger comes into her house, touches her things, interrupts her alone time with Tate, then they’re confused? Who the fuck—

“Because I thought we were doing good. I thought we were happy.” You continued.

“What do you mean? I-I don’t know you.” He repeated, standing up.

“Tate, you really don’t remember us? You don’t remember Y/n and Tate, voted most likely to stay together?” You dropped your arms by your side. That’s right Y/n, look disappointed, look as innocent as a butterfly. Look harmless enough until you can say what you need to.

“Y/n and Tate?” He looked at the floor, mumbling to himself. Faker. You hid your distaste behind a face worn with a pouty lip and wide eyes. He pulled his sleeves over his hands like he always did when he was stressed or thinking.

“Is anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?” The blonde girl asked. Oh, poor girl, she doesn’t realize yet that the wolf is hidden well within the sheep’s skin. You felt your heartburn for her. For her fate and her wasted future soon to come. For her career never to be started or her life never fully begin. For all the wasted opportunity. 

“I’m so sorry to intrude. I just wanted a quick word with Tate.” You told her with a kind smile.

“Well you’re not getting alone with him I can promise you that.” She responded. I understand, sweet girl. I can’t tell he’s already isolated you and twisted your faith in others. Tate looked up at you and back at the girl who had gotten up from the bed and now stood by him.

“Violet. I need a minute to talk to Y/n.” Tate glared into her eyes, telling her not to question him.

“So you’re gonna be alone with this random person? Y/n or whatever it is?” She glared back at him, trying to dominate, to control the situation.

“I said I need a minute,” Tate said, cupping Violet’s chin and gazing into her eyes. “Just trust me.” Ugh. Tate, the emotional manipulation isn’t a good look on you. Then again, you’ve never cared if it suited you or not. Always shifting and finding a way to be the good, trustworthy, not totally insane psychopath.

Violet’s eyes softened under the attention of Tate.

“Okay fine. I’ll wait in the Living room.” She said, stomping past you and bumping into your shoulder. You gazed at each other for a few seconds, trying to find where to pick up the conversation again. 

You decided to take the lead. He stayed quiet.

“It’s been what—almost two decades?” You let out a nervous chuckle.

“I just want to know why. I thought we were happy. I thought you liked where we were headed” You pleaded, stepping closer. He looked down at you, not reacting.

“Y/n. I’m sorry.” You breathed out a sigh. “I don’t know what you mean. We were never together.” Your heart shook in your chest like when a drunk teenager swings on a chandelier. Your heart being the chandelier, obviously. And right now it seemed one very very drunk teen was making said chandelier absolutely oscillate.

“You—don’t.” You shook. “You don’t know who I am?” Act the part, make your audience feel your emotions. Make them so hurt by your pain that they feel it themselves. Make it believable.

Tears were filling your tears ducts on command. He looked up, flinching at the tears forming in your eyes. Oh yes Tate, feel sympathy—or don’t. I’ll just give you a good show while the previews are on. 

“Tate, how—?” You took in a deep breath.

“Remember 1994, we were going steady. We dated? For half a year?” You stood strong in your acting. You voluntarily let your voice crack, adding in a little more spice into your show.

“Y/n?” He muttered.

“Yeah, baby what is it?” You responded stepping closer until you were right in front of him.

“What did I do? Why are you here? Why did you choose me to latch onto?” He asked. Your lungs exhaled and you walked around him to sit on the bed. You patted the spot next to you for him to sit. Tate walked over and sat down beside you. 

“You took everything from me, Tate.” A very fake but very convincing tear slipped down your cheek. He looked confused and put his hand over yours in some fake show of sympathy.

“You took me on my first date, the bowling alley then Lovers’ Point. You took my first kiss on the same day. My virginity, in the back of your shitty car. Then we watched the stars on the hood. I remember when you found the big dipper, you pointed it out and got all excited like a little kid.” You chuckled, for a second reliving those fast, passionate, humour-filled moments.

“That was one of the last times you got really happy—really excited about something. After that, you started zoning out more often. I’d ask you what you were thinkin about and you’d give me a funny smile and say ‘nothin’”. You shook the memory from your head.

“Remember every time we fucked to make me feel better you put in the cassette you made for me? With all my favourite songs?” You smiled, trying to name his old habits in some hope he’d remember. If he remembered, it would make things a lot quicker to deal with. Your smile faltered and you looked back at him. He wore a guilty expression, obviously remembering it. Or at least remembering something.

“And then you took my life.” His head shot up, meeting your eyes. Faker, Faker, Faker.

“Yeah, crazy right? I’m a ghost and all that. Boo!” You smiled, wiggling your fingers like kids did on Halloween trying to be scary. Yeah, that’s right. Be harmless, be innocent.

“See, what’s sort of ironic for me is that I wanted a future together. You took mine, and yet you’re still trapped with me forever.” You continued. You got up and stood in front of him, waiting for something.

The room fell silent.

“So? Nothing to say? Nothing after you murdered me and all those other kids? And almost killed your step-dad?” His elbows were resting on his knees now. His hands covering his face.

“Nothing after all this time? No sorry, no tears, no nothing?”

He sniffled and hugged your waist. He sobbed and let everything he was holding in. His tears soaked your jeans. Yuck. All this fake self-pity is suffocating.

“Shhh, shh” You stroked his hair as he cried.

“Tate, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’m here now.” You cupped his face in your hands and wiped away his tears. He stood up, face and eyes red, hugging you as tight as he could. Gross. He can’t be serious—could he? No, no, he killed you and all those kids in cold blood. He’s a psychopath. A murderer. A monster. Really, doubting yourself? You really truly believe he’s changed? No. He’s just manipulating and acting and twisting your emotions just like he’s doing with Violet now. He stood up, face and eyes red, hugging you as tight as he could.

“You know why I’m here, sweets?” You rubbed his back and drew shapes along his waist with your fingertips. He loosened his hold on you, but still held you in his arms.

“Because I want you to remember how you killed me.” You smiled, tucking his hair behind his ear. His eyes widened. 

“Tulips? Really, darling? That’s a fitting memorial in your eyes? No red roses?” You joked, fake pouting. His arms left your waist.

“You buried me in this property’s soil. You kept me here.”

“And to hear you murdered that lovely gay couple, Chad and Pat? And for what? For them to live a beautiful happy eternal life here together? You essentially imprisoned them in this house with you, and with everyone else. You trapped Chad forever with an unsatisfied husband who no longer loved him and Patrick with a neglectful, Martha Stewart esque one.”

“Chad and Patrick were the nicest, most comforting ones when I first—passed—here. They looked out for me, helped me meet the others here.” Your fists balled at your sides.

“And to hear that you threw away their lives so mercilessly so unnecessarily was so—sickening.”

“And Halloween—Oh, Tate, Halloween was the most eventful night I’ve had for the past seventeen years!” You smiled, deep in thought.

“You know what I did for Halloween this year, Tate? I got to see my family. Or more likely, I got to see their headstones.” You booped his nose.

“See, Tate dear, what I found out this year were two things.” You held his hands, palms facing up.

“One, my whole family, one after the other, killed themselves when I went missing. My brother, My mom after she lost both of her kids, and then, finally, my dad.” You traced the lines on his palms.

“Honey, you didn’t just kill me—you killed the rest of my family too.”

“And,” You held up a single finger. “You killed my dreams for university, you killed the career I’ll never have, you killed the me I’ll now never be.”

“And you just had to—you just had take away the one time I’d ever get to rest, ever get some peace of mind.”

“My afterlife.”


End file.
